Fairytales
by BloomRay
Summary: "She was trapped in an imperfect world, seeking perfection that did not exist." Zuko tells Kiyi a bedtime story, but it isn't quite what Ursa expects. Oneshot.


_Hello, hello :)_

_I've been playing around with this one for a while, and finally decided to go ahead and publish it. It's a little longer than my other fics, but I do hope you enjoy it nonetheless! _

* * *

"Ikem, where's Kiyi gone? I can't seem to find her anywhere – or Zuko, for that matter."

Ursa couldn't help but feel somewhat incredulous. Part of her had expected Zuko to reject the very existence of Kiyi, for she had their mother when he did not. And could she have blamed him? She had chosen to forget him in favour for a new life, and from it, a new child. How could he have forgiven her, when Ursa was only beginning to learn how to forgive herself?

Apparently, quite easily. It was still her first week back at the Palace and her adoring children had scampered away after dinner. She frowned at her husband, who was unabashedly staring at the throne room décor with a critical eye.

"Hold on," Ikem said absently, "Do you realise what we could _do _with this kind of space? Imagine what sort of scenery we can set up here – the lighting would be absolutely perfect! You really get a 'forbidden forest' vibe here, don't you, dear?" He closed one eye and pretended to take measurements.

She let out a laugh. "Well then, I'll let the Fire Lord know that he'll have to relocate. Either that, or he'll be receiving dignitaries atop a massive cut-out tree."

"I'm sure Zuko will love that," Ikem snorted. He took one last glance around the room before turning to her. "And as for where he is," he continued mildly, his dark eyes amused. "He's telling Kiyi a bedtime story. I told him that it was unnecessary and that I could take over, but I'm afraid our rascal of a daughter won't settle for anything less." He faked a pout.

"Zuko's telling stories?" she said in disbelief.

"Oh, absolutely! He's very good at it. Must take that creative streak from his mother." Ikem winked at her. "You should go and listen. They can be terrifying!"

Ursa scoffed. "So my son is telling horror stories to our child and my husband enjoys this," she said flatly. "Wonderful."

The director raised his eyebrows. "They aren't horror stories to those that don't understand them." He smiled, but there was a sadness in it. "Kiyi adores them anyway, but I find them rather informative."

She shook her head, baffled. "Why?"

"Listen, and you'll find out."

* * *

Ursa pushed the bedroom door open tentatively, still somewhat doubtful as to whether to intrude on this special moment between her children. It filled her heart with unending joy to think of them spending time with one another, but admittedly, the mix of pride and love was somewhat overshadowed. The eight years she had spent away from her son meant they had far too much to catch up on, and what little time he had now that he was Fire Lord, she desperately didn't want to share.

It was selfish, and she hated herself for it, but the knowledge didn't subdue her weakness.

She slowly crept into the room, her breath hitching at the sight of the Fire Lord's figure against the dim light. She could recognise her nose and her chin on his proud features, but the piercing eyes and the mop of dark hair belonged to another.

Sometimes, she forgot he was never entirely hers.

Kiyi saw her against the wall, and squealed happily. Zuko turned his head and gave her a sincere smile. "Well, now. Looks like Mom's here for storytime too."

"Mommy, Mommy, guess what?" her daughter chanted as Ursa moved to sit on the other side of the bundle in the sheets. "Zuko tells the best stories _ever. _There was one about this giant fish that ate ships and a city with walls that reached the sky and even one about –" Her innocent eyes grew round and she leant in to whisper, "- pirates!"

Ursa heard Zuko clearing his throat and she grinned at him. "That does sound terrifying! I wonder what Zuko's going to tell us tonight."

"Actually," the Fire Lord said hastily, "I was just going to tell her the one you used to tell us – about the turtle ducks." He fidgeted a little, and his cheeks began to redden.

"Aw, Zuko, you said the one about the princess!" Kiyi persisted vehemently, as if nothing else could ever matter more. "You promised!"

"No," her half-brother said with a firmness that still surprised Ursa. "We can save that for later-"

"Oh no," his mother interrupted brightly. "I've heard the turtle duck one far too many times. I'd love to hear the one about the princess. Please, Zuko, go ahead." She gave him an encouraging look, and a satisfied smile spread across her face when she saw her son give in.

In truth, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to hear it.

"Long ago, in a faraway land," Zuko began, and even in that ordinary start, she let herself be lulled by his voice, by his smooth rhythms and the soft light, by this sense of belonging...

* * *

Long ago, in a faraway land, there was a nation just like ours. It was powerful and great and a king ruled it all. He is all but a legend now, but once he was real and fearsome and no one dared to challenge him. But this would not last long, because this great nation destroyed itself in a gruesome war. What is left of its legacy is broken and buried deep in the ground, and trapped between the pages of history books, still and soundless forever.

Indeed, once they were powerful and great. They said that if you stood on top of the highest mountain and turned east, you would see rich and hot deserts with sand as fine as gold. If you turned west, the steamy forestlands with trees as high as heavens would rise to greet you. All of this was ruled by a family that lived at the very heart of the land. The king had children, and grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren, and this story is about the youngest of them all. A girl, famous in her own way. The princess.

She was famous for far more formidable deeds in her life, and eventually, this became her undoing. But before she was feared and before she was broken, she was a child, just like you. She had hope, she had dreams and she began as all children do, innocent and carefree, untouched by war and death. A princess in a land alight with potential. Once, the simple world of family was enough.

But then the child became a girl, and the girl began to wonder about power and duty. She wondered why her brother was allowed to play with knives when she was stuck with dolls, and why she had to be perfect all the time. Every day she would wake up, watch the sunrise, and ask herself why. But no one answered her, because duty kept her from asking. Because questioning was a sign of disrespect and the princess knew her place.

One day, the princess was with her tutors, making a painting of a moose-lion. She was immensely proud of her work. Her tutor applauded her brilliance – they had never seen such talent! True brilliance! The blues shone bright as the sky, the greens as lush as emeralds -

Yes, Kiyi, I know what moose-lions look like; I was trying to be poetic. No, I know they aren't blue and green. Let's just pretend that it's a special kind of moose-lion, alright? No, Kiyi, it isn't the product of radioactive waste – look, do you want to hear the story or not?

Where was I? Right, the painting. Deciding that the rest of the world should witness such beauty, the princess took her painting to her mother, because her father was far too busy. She was satisfied that it was done to perfection, and her mother surely could not find fault in such flawlessness. She had done what was expected of her, after all.

But her mother did not say a word. She merely smiled and nodded, but she remained silent.

The princess did not cry. No, of course not. It just was not good enough. Next time, she told herself, next time it would be perfect. She was a princess after all, and princesses do not fail. It simply was not done.

Time passed; the girl became a young woman. Immersed in a new chilled and pristine world, the torrent of compliments never stopped showering her – her tutors applauded her talent, her friends were in awe: but none of them understood the hunger in her eyes. They had more expectations of her; new skills to learn, new books to read, new gossip to hear. She performed each to perfection, because princesses are perfect and she must be perfect.

But she was not, and she knew it.

Somehow, it was becoming more than a childish desire. It mattered to her that she heard pride in her father's voice and saw his nod of approval – recognition was beginning to matter to her in a way that nothing else ever had. She had the respect and fear of her peers and subjects, but that could not satisfy her any longer. She needed more.

Her mother had never accepted her, but that was alright, because her father found her wonderful and capable. But still her mother had never accepted her. The thought started haunting her during the day, a small whisper hovering at the periphery of her life. As time went by, and betrayals came to light, it burned deeper until it all but consumed who she was. For approval came with perfection, and nothing and no one could reject flawlessness.

And she could not accept her flaws. Princesses were not flawed. It simply was not so.

The sad thing is, it would only take three words to make it all stop. Perhaps, one day, someone would come and save her. Perhaps one day, she would find purpose, and learn how to hope and dream again.

Until then, she was trapped in an imperfect world, seeking perfection that did not exist.

* * *

"What happened to her?" Kiyi asked sleepily. "Is she okay now?"

Zuko tucked her in and ruffled her hair. "I can't say. It's just a story, Kiyi, but it's meant to be a lesson. No matter what happens, be who you are. Don't think that you have to live up to anyone's expectations. You see what I'm saying?"

Kiyi smiled. "Got it. Don't worry, be happy. But I hope the princess is okay though. It wasn't her fault. She just wanted to be noticed, that's all."

Her half-brother sighed. "Maybe you're right. Don't think too much about it, and get some sleep. Goodnight."

"Night, Zuko."

* * *

"That was quite the tale," Ursa said quietly as he closed the door on the sleeping child, her heart hammering. "I didn't think it entirely appropriate, however, you're very good at telling it." She took a deep breath, and waited for him to turn to her. "But it wasn't a story."

He met her eyes then and she saw in him a part she could not recognise: shadowed, hollow, sad. "No, it wasn't. None of them are."

"Zuko," Ursa began, her throat constricting. "I'm here now. I can make things right, but I need you to talk to me."

"I don't know where to start," he admitted softly. "It's not me you need to speak to. And there isn't much you can do anymore. What's done is done."

Dumbstruck, she stared at him. "What exactly does that mean?"

Zuko leant against the wall and regarded her carefully. "It means I'm not asking for pity, Mom, or for you to try and fix everything. Everything that's happened - it's made us what we are. Stronger."

"And what else did it make you?" she blurted without thinking. She couldn't stop herself from seeing him now as she had tried her hardest not to: a stranger, distant for all the memories they shared.

Zuko turned away from her then. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mom," he said, exhausted, and left her standing alone in the hall.

_It would only take three words to make it all stop. _

He was wrong.

It wasn't pity she felt. It wasn't even grief.

Ikem had told her to listen, and she had. But what she heard wasn't a message of despair, or loss. It was a message of hope. Hope for the present, hope for the future.

As she watched him leave, she clung onto it. All fairytales have a happy ending. It was time this had one, too.

* * *

_What can I say, I'm a bundle of joy. _

_As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts._

_Edit__: An anonymous review really struck me, about how I have a trend of ending on a sombre note. I can't exactly reply to them, so I took the message to heart and changed the ending of this fic. It was a fair point, and you know what? I think I prefer it this way.__  
_


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